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On Seventh Avenue
by Lisa Scarboro
Here we are again...
apart.
I don�t know where you are.
I can only wonder
and the waiting is endless
here on Seventh Avenue
and every car sounds like yours
and the cigarettes burn
and the blue smoke drifts up and away
and out of sight like you are.
You�ve got Jack with you riding shotgun
and you�re on the road again just like old times
and I�m sitting here with pen and paper
writing this just to have something to do
just like old times on Seventh Avenue..
Who did you keep warm last night?
It wasn�t me is all I know.
I heard they�re predicting rain today,
but I think rain came yesterday,
red and barefooted under a hot Georgia sun.
Wouldn�t take very long to reach Alabama
unless it moves north.
Is it gloomy everywhere today,
or just on Seventh Avenue?
I�d walk away from everything if I could,
but a million little cords of responsibility have
me tied down here
and so I light another cigarette
and try to ignore the fact that the clocks are
acting strangely.
Is time standing still everywhere,
or just on Seventh Avenue?
And I have to forgive the ignorant cruelty of
people driving past my house
(because they don�t know)
how I�m sitting here listening for
the sound of a motor stopping
and a car door shutting
and footsteps on the porch
and a key turning in the lock
and a voice saying �hey there�,
I�d give almost anything
for all that to be true,
but as yet it hasn�t happened
here on Seventh Avenue.
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On Seventh Avenue is copyright 1998 by Lisa Scarboro